We Are Seven
A simple child, dear brother Jim, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage girl, She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That cluster'd round her head.
She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad; Her eyes were fair, and very fair, —Her beauty made me glad.
"Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.
"And where are they, I pray you tell?" She answered, "Seven are we, And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea."
"Two of us in the church-yard lie, My sister and my brother, And in the church-yard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother."
"You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea, Yet you are seven; I pray you tell Sweet Maid, how this may be?"
Then did the little Maid reply, "Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the church-yard lie, Beneath the church-yard tree."
"You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the church-yard laid, Then ye are only five."
"Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little Maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side."
"My stockings there I often knit, My 'kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit— I sit and sing to them."
"And often after sunset, Sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there."
"The first that died was little Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain, And then she went away."
"So in the church-yard she was laid, And all the summer dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I."
"And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side."
"How many are you then," said I, "If they two are in Heaven?" The little Maiden did reply, "O Master! we are seven."
"But they are dead; those two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven!" 'Twas throwing words away; for still The little Maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven!"
ANECDOTE for FATHERS, Shewing how the practice of Lying may be taught.
I have a boy of five years old, His face is fair and fresh to see; His limbs are cast in beauty's mould, And dearly he loves me.
One morn we stroll'd on our dry walk, Our quiet house all full in view, And held such intermitted talk As we are wont to do.
My thoughts on former pleasures ran; I thought of Kilve's delightful shore, My pleasant home, when Spring began, A long, long year before.
A day it was when I could bear To think, and think, and think again; With so much happiness to spare, I could not feel a pain.
My boy was by my side, so slim And graceful in his rustic dress! And oftentimes I talked to him In very idleness.
The young lambs ran a pretty race; The morning sun shone bright and warm; "Kilve," said I, "was a pleasant place, And so is Liswyn farm."
"My little boy, which like you more," I said and took him by the arm— "Our home by Kilve's delightful shore, Or here at Liswyn farm?"
"And tell me, had you rather be," I said and held-him by the arm, "At Kilve's smooth shore by the green sea, Or here at Liswyn farm?"
In careless mood he looked at me, While still I held him by the arm, And said, "At Kilve I'd rather be Than here at Liswyn farm."
"Now, little Edward, say why so; My little Edward, tell me why;" "I cannot tell, I do not know." "Why this is strange," said I.
"For, here are woods and green hills warm: There surely must some reason be Why you would change sweet Liswyn farm, For Kilve by the green sea."
At this, my boy hung down his head, He blush'd with shame, nor made reply; And five times to the child I said, "Why, Edward, tell me, why?"
His head he raised—there was in sight, It caught his eye, he saw it plain— Upon the house-top, glittering bright, A broad and gilded vane.
Then did the boy his tongue unlock, And thus to me he made reply; "At Kilve there was no weather-cock, And that's the reason why."
Oh dearest, dearest boy! my heart For better lore would seldom yearn Could I but teach the hundredth part Of what from thee I learn.
LINES Written at a small distance from my House, and sent by my little boy to the person to whom they are addressed.
It is the first mild day of March: Each minute sweeter than before, The red-breast sings from the tall larch That stands beside our door.
There is a blessing in the air, Which seems a sense of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare, And grass in the green field.
My Sister! ('tis a wish of mine) Now that our morning meal is done, Make haste, your morning task resign; Come forth and feel the sun.
Edward will come with you, and pray, Put on with speed your woodland dress, And bring no book, for this one day We'll give to idleness.
No joyless forms shall regulate Our living Calendar: We from to-day, my friend, will date The opening of the year.
Love, now an universal birth, From heart to heart is stealing, From earth to man, from man to earth, —It is the hour of feeling.
One moment now may give us more Than fifty years of reason; Our minds shall drink at every pore The spirit of the season.
Some silent laws our hearts may make, Which they shall long obey; We for the year to come may take Our temper from to-day.
And from the blessed power that rolls About, below, above; We'll frame the measure of our souls, They shall be tuned to love.
Then come, my sister I come, I pray, With speed put on your woodland dress, And bring no book; for this one day We'll give to idleness.
Literary Analysis
This literary analysis was generated with AI and may contain interpretive differences. Provide your analysis in the comments section.
Summary
William Wordsworth sets the poem in a plain country encounter between a grown observer and a small cottage girl who insists that her family of seven remains seven, even though two of her siblings are buried in the churchyard and two others live elsewhere. What begins as a simple question about counting becomes a deeper conversation about whether death truly reduces the living family as the adult thinks it does. The child answers with everyday certainty, describing how she sits by the graves, knits, sings, and eats supper there, as if love can keep the dead woven into ordinary life.
The poem progresses through a series of increasingly logical objections from the questioner, who tries to force the child into arithmetic and accepted ideas about mortality. The girl refuses that logic without becoming defensive; to her, the dead remain part of the family because they are still present in memory, habit, and affection. That tension between adult reason and childlike feeling gives the poem its emotional force. Wordsworth does not simply mock either view: he leaves readers caught between the practical truth of death and the more human truth that grief often preserves the loved one's place among the living.
Theme
- Childhood innocence - The girl's repeated answer shows a mind that is not naive in a foolish way, but unbending in its own clear emotional logic. She understands death in her own terms and refuses to let adult counting erase what she feels to be true.
- Grief and memory - The poem presents mourning as an active relationship rather than a finished event. The child's visits to the graves, her singing, and her supper near them turn remembrance into daily life.
- Reason versus feeling - The adult speaker relies on arithmetic and definition, while the child relies on lived attachment. Wordsworth stages their disagreement to show how formal logic can fail before the realities of love and loss.
- Family as emotional continuity - The child's insistence that the family is still seven suggests that kinship is not ended by burial. The dead remain part of the household through memory, place, and ritual.
- The presence of death in ordinary life - Death is not treated as remote or grand here; it sits beside knitting, supper, and play. That closeness makes the poem tender rather than tragic in a dramatic sense.
- Natural acceptance - The child's easy relation to the churchyard reflects a rural world where life, burial, and daily routine are physically close. The setting helps make death feel like part of the landscape of living.
Literary Devices
- Ballad form - The poem uses a conversational ballad style with simple rhymes and steady rhythm, which makes the exchange feel natural and memorable while also giving the child's reply the force of a folk truth.
- Dialogue - Most of the poem unfolds as direct speech, allowing the child and adult to reveal their different assumptions without heavy explanation. The debate becomes vivid because readers hear it happen in real time.
- Repetition - The child's repeated claim, along with the adult's repeated questioning, creates a circular structure that mirrors the stubbornness of both positions. The repetition also emphasizes the emotional weight of the child's refusal to revise her understanding.
- Irony - The adult believes he is correcting a mistake, but the poem quietly suggests that his arithmetic may be too narrow. The child's answer seems simple, yet it carries a deeper emotional logic than his calculations.
- Imagery - Details such as the green graves, the churchyard tree, and the child sitting and singing create a gentle but haunting visual world. These images make the poem's emotional claim concrete.
- Contrast - Wordsworth contrasts the child's living body with the buried siblings, and the adult's analytical manner with her affectionate certainty. This opposition drives the central argument of the poem.
- Rhetorical questioning - The adult's questions are meant to expose inconsistency, but they instead highlight the gap between measurement and meaning. Each question sharpens the poem's emotional conflict.
Symbolism
- The churchyard - The churchyard stands for the boundary between life and death, but also for their closeness in the child's world. It is not a place of absence alone; it is a site of continuing family presence.
- The graves - The graves symbolize both loss and ongoing attachment. Because the child can see and visit them, they become part of her ordinary sense of family rather than a final separation.
- Knitting and hemming - These domestic actions suggest continuity, care, and memory. By doing such work near the graves, the child folds grief into everyday routines.
- Eating supper - Supper by the graves symbolizes the child's refusal to separate the dead from the shared life of the household. It is a striking image of intimate remembrance.
- The churchyard tree - The tree suggests rootedness and natural cycles, reinforcing the idea that death belongs to a larger living order rather than standing outside it entirely.
Tone
Wordsworth's tone is calm, probing, and quietly skeptical, especially in the adult voice that keeps trying to correct the child's understanding. Yet the mood the reader experiences is more tender and elegiac than argumentative. The child's steadfastness, the rural setting, and the closeness of the graves create a feeling of intimacy with loss, so the poem ends not in triumph but in a moving stalemate between reason and love.
Historical Context
Wordsworth wrote during the Romantic period, when poets often gave special value to childhood, individual feeling, and the moral intelligence found in ordinary rural life. His poetry frequently challenges the idea that truth is reached only through abstract reasoning, instead honoring direct experience, memory, and emotional perception. This poem fits that larger Romantic interest in the wisdom of children and the spiritual meanings hidden in humble settings.
The poem also reflects a culture in which churchyards, village life, and family burial grounds remained familiar parts of everyday experience. In that world, the dead were often physically near the living, which helps explain the poem's emotional plausibility. Wordsworth uses that closeness to ask whether loss is fully understood by counting bodies, or whether love creates another kind of truth that persists beyond death.
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